It was only a short dash to the mess tent, and as he shook the rain from his hat and used the scraper to get the worst of the mud off his boots, he could see it was packed solid with men eating, drinking, smoking and talking. But above all the noise and the continuous drumming of the rain on the canvas, the wireless could be heard very clearly. Jim couldn’t help but grin when he realised it was transmitting Woman’s Hour, with its usual mix of singing, comic turns, household tips and fashion advice. No doubt Peggy was also listening to it back home at Beach View, and that thought brought her closer somehow.

It had been ordered that half-rations should remain in place so the transport planes could carry more arms and ammunition into the battle zones, and although there was a lot of grumbling about this, every man knew it was sensible. The more firepower they had, the quicker they’d get rid of the Japs and be on their way home.

Without much pleasure, Jim eyed the lump of bully beef and the rehydrated mashed potato the cook had dumped on his tin plate, then took two slices of coarse bread, shoved a bottle of beer in each pocket of his shorts and filled his tin cup from the vast tea urn. At least fags, beer and tea weren’t rationed – there would have been a riot if they had, but Lieutenant General Slim was wise enough to realise as much, which was why they all admired him.

The tables and benches in the vast mess tent were placed in sections for the different ranks, and it was only the senior officers who had chairs and a tablecloth. Jim sat down on the bench with his fellow junior officers and greeted his mate, Lieutenant Hamish ‘Jumbo’ McTavish – an enormous Scotsman with fiery hair and fierce eyebrows, large ears and very blue eyes in a strong-featured, ruddy face.

Jumbo reminded Jim of Big Bert in a way, which was why he’d been drawn to him. But for all his size and colouring, Jumbo was a quietly spoken, even-tempered man who’d worked as a gamekeeper on the remote Isle of Skye before joining up. He always had a well-thumbed book in his back pocket and was easy with his own company – but in battle, he was fiercely committed to wiping out as many of the enemy as he could, and performed this task with icy thoroughness. It was only when he’d been at the whisky that the other side of his personality came through, and he’d become garrulous and the life and soul of every gathering.